Not one without the other
by Staccato Stop
Summary: This was an unspoken agreement they shared, not one without the other. AU DM/HG
1. Chapter 1

Him

This was his first time, a child of 18. They had trained him, taught the rules, given the words to recite. He knew the how, the what, and in theory, he knew the why. As they dragged him down the stairs, feet sifting through the dirt, he cursed and hit and threw himself into their game. They played their roles perfectly and threw him down into the grime and filth of the cell next to hers. She was still in the corner, curled in a ball, a lump of bruises and muck. Shallow, raspy breaths in, in, in and out…out, the only sign of life. She was not moving, but she still heard, so he screamed. False hate and anger propelled each word and an equally deceiving malice slammed the door shut. His cries died out with the fading echo of their footsteps retreating down the hall.

They torture them first. Fists meet faces, knives tear skin, and lungs fill with water. But then it stops. They try to break you with pain and then the attack on the mind comes. They lock you up with no indication of what is to come. The cells are always dark, so time disappears. Always in the dark and always alone, sanity starts to slip away and that is when they strike. Slowly and deftly they chip away at you until you crumble.

The first step is connection, a connection between two people, him and her. It would just take a spark for her to cleave to him. To shake off the fear of the pain he might cause and let her desire to connect overwhelm her. That is when he would strike, whispering poisonous words into her ears until she reveals everything torture could not. Starting innocuously enough, he gives her a name, maybe a birthplace. All lies, but the words work their purpose. She will open up, reveal little by little. Then in one moment when her reality is too dark and too cold, the endless night will take its toll and she will murmur what they want to know. She will confide in him and what physical cruelty could not reveal will spill willingly from her lips. Then his job will be done, then he will betray her, and then they will take her life.

Her

Nothing about her said extraordinary. Nothing about her indicated she was worth any trouble. She was a slight thing, dark hair, and dark eyes, nothing striking or memorable. She was the perfect form to slip about unnoticed. She heard things, saw things, in and out, always quiet and always unseen. In her work, she had always been careful. Always aware of her surroundings, always on guard, but people are fallible. She was tired of fighting, tired of hiding, just tired. She didn't want to play anymore. So, she moved in, took a risk and crept out of the shadows and into the light. They were waiting. As soon as the light hit her face, they grabbed her. Five large figures clothed all in black. A girl no more then 15, an ally or so she thought, stepped out from behind them. She looked up tears in her eyes and in her voice,

"…I couldn't… they, they made me. It hurt…hurt so much. I'm so sorry."

"Enough," said a voice in an irritated tone, "Tack the spy and blindfold her. Kill the snitch."

"No!" she shrieked, "You bastard, you prom—"

Swift movements with skillful hands ended her screams with a snap; silence reverberated in the air.

Her

The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as my captors' strengthen their grips on my arms and pull me up once more. A cool breeze blows through the room and the sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room. They have been torturing me for days, hoping that with every hit, they are breaking my will. Hoping that every bruise brings them closer to the information I know. Another hit, another grunt of pain, and new stronger grip on my arms.

_I will not tell. I will not tell._ That is my mantra. The final hit comes and I fall in a heap on the floor. With a new grip on my arms my captors drag me down the dusty hall into the darkness of my cold cell. I hear them close the metal bars, place the key in the lock, and then I hear the music that is their footsteps fading away. I won again today, and I will win again tomorrow. I will. I lay my head back and take a deep breath while my fingers run through the cool damp dirt that serves as my floor. I have no idea how long I have been here and sometimes I am not sure if I am awake or asleep. I am alive; it is the only thing I am sure of

Flesh hitting flesh. The smell and taste of blood and a prayer for a sleep that never ends; this is the scope of my world. Faces new and old blur together, night and day have abandoned me. Nothing makes any sense; they question me regarding things I could never know or things everyone knows. On and on they go and less and less I understand. Their words are just noise now. Another punch, a new bruise, I try to focus but all I hear is buzzing. It seems they have been at this for hours, but I can never be sure. It could be days, it could be minutes. I fade in and out so frequently, sometimes I cannot be sure I am even awake. Surely this must all be a nightmare; this cannot truly be my life. Black shapes swarm in front of my eyes and I lift my head only to have it knocked down again. My head is underwater now and darkness is encroaching.

As the drag me down the long hallway, blood from my scalp runs in my eyes and I see nothing. I feel nothing, not my feet I know are scraping across the floor, not their rough hands that must be holding me up. It has all gone numb. They drop me onto the floor of my cell and gradually I feel and taste the dirt surrounding my face. Familiar and comforting; dirt means I can still feel, it means that they have yet to take it all away. Unable to move I lay there and breathe, in and out. I focus on the breathing and will my battered body to move; my ribs will never heal if I stay like this. A strangled chuckle emerges from my raw throat and escapes out of my cracked and broken lips. A humorous thought, if they heal, they will only break them again.

I can taste the grit of the floor in my mouth, earthy and hard, and I can feel it in my eyes. I curl up the best I can, trying to create some kind of warmth, regardless of the pain. I feel myself start to drift away when my solitude is shattered by screams reverberating through the hall. The sound grows louder and draws near. My eyes are closed, but I am sure they have stopped near me. I can hear the doors of the cell next to me open and I feel a strange energy run through my body. An ally, a friend even, my new neighbor may very well be my salvation. I have been alone in the dark for so long.


	2. Chapter 2

Him

Solitude is one of insanity's greatest enablers. When one is left only with their thoughts to keep them company, the mind runs amuck. Coupled with a complete and utter lack of control and the inability to perceive any kind of pattern, to anticipate any events, the mind begins to fragment. In the darkness of her cramped cell, the young prisoner began to feel her sanity slip away.

She awoke very convinced that the walls of her cells were closing in on her. At first she recognized the irrational nature of her thoughts, walls cannot move, her cell was not becoming smaller. But as she lay there gazing at the darkness about her, her certainty began to slip away. Panic began to pool in her stomach and she felt a great desire to run, to get away from the walls, which were pushing in on her, closer and closer. Her breathing became quite erratic and she felt a sickening lightness in her head. She began to claw at the walls, the floor, anything, anywhere, desperate for escape. She did not feel her fingernails breaking as she continued clawing at the wall, she did not feel the blood run down her hands. She felt nothing but pure unadulterated fear. Tears began to run down her face, as pure hysteria set in. Then she began to scream, to shriek a bloodcurdling and pained cry. She screeched and scratched until all her strength left her. Until she could physically no longer move, she curled into a boneless pile on the floor, closed her eyes and waited for death.

He heard everything. He knew this would come, he knew she would break. He knew now would be the optimum moment to strike. Yet an unexpected anger rumbled in his stomach and impeded his actions. He felt disgusted with himself, with his people. He had seen her the night they brought her in. She stared out into the darkness where he hid with enraged brown eyes and a scowl, but even the most ferocious glare could not hide the fact that she was a child. Eighteen or nineteen, no more, a child playing at war. He had been briefed; he knew the havoc she caused. He knew the information she could provide was vital. It was his job to bleed her mind dry; he had been trained for all of this. He used to lie in his bed at night and as the water from the ocean lulled him to sleep, he would dream of the day he would be given his first case. He would imagine how easily he would weave the lies that would loosen the prisoner's tongue. How quickly they would spill the secrets he longed to hear, top of his class, he could not wait to prove himself in the field. But, as he lay on the hard earthen floor surrounded by her screams, he was not sure he wanted to play anymore. He closed his eyes and covered his ears, trying desperately to block out the sound. But it was no use, her screams, her pain, her fear permeated his soul. He could feel her and every time he closed his eyes her brown eyes were all he could see. He could not do this.

She had been in love once with a beautiful boy with a crooked smile. She could remember looking into his eyes and feeling like it would all be okay. She also remembered looking into those eyes as he said his goodbyes to existence. But, right at this very moment she was certain she heard his voice calling to her. The hushed whisper fell upon her ears once more and she slowly turned her head to look toward the sound, but she saw nothing but darkness. She had been babbling to herself all night, talking to the love she lost, asking him to come and take her away and now it seemed he was here. She pulled her broken body toward the sound, but she did not find anything more than the corner of her cell. She knew he was here, she heard him. Concluding that he would soon return, she lay her fevered cheek down on the cool dirt and closed her eyes.

He heard her move and from the tiny hole through which he peered he could see her gaunt and broken face. He opened his mouth to whisper to her again, but found his words caught in his throat. Barely recognizable was the girl who had glared at the world. All that was left was a bruised and battered soul. He felt an overwhelming urge to touch her, to brush the hair from her face, to put her body back together and make her laugh. He realized in that moment, he had to save her. She was a person, flesh and blood, heart and soul, he could not destroy her. But, if he did not, surely others would. A dozen, at least, had already been trained and more enlisted every day. Yet somehow, he vowed, he would set her free, he would save her.

Her

The grounds are deserted. The evidence long removed, but I still see where the blood pooled and their bodies cooled. Can we play here still? Should we laugh and sing? Who can dance where bodies once lay? Still, we spin and spin and watch the world move.

We returned to the grounds the very next day, chores were done and this is where we were expected to be. All the red dirt washed away, a little water and everything is the same. If you can't see it, it doesn't exist. If they tell you to forget, why remember? But even now, I still see them, her eyes tightly shut and his eyes wide and green. I see their bodies unnaturally still lying in the dirt. Surreptitiously, we glanced at each other while we played. But, mostly everyone stared at the ground. Everyone kept their eyes fixed on their feet because eyes talk and eyes know what it is we have been forbidden to say. I saw them then and I still see them now, no matter how much water they used.

The wind whipped ferociously across the grounds and a cold rain began its descent from the sky, but we kept playing. Playing play, pretending everything is the same, but even at eight years old, I knew everything had changed. Still we played on, saying the words we should say, running and jumping, as if nothing had changed, while men in black watched on in the distance.

Blood flowed from their bodies, real blood, their blood, our blood. It crawled across the grass and gathered by rocks where children played. It had started innocently enough. New leaders took power. They came with promises. The future looked hopeful, the last few years had been hard, but, then there were the curfews and travel restrictions, export quotas, and questions. The questions gave way to stares, stares from the armed men that came into our homes and patrolled the village, and with the stares came fear. When people started disappearing in the night the fear grew and everyone learned to keep their eyes on their feet and keep their voices down. Not everyone fell in line; voices of dissent rose and whispers of rebellion echoed in the shadows, but they were whispers nothing more. But then people started disappearing during the day and one beautiful spring morning violence ensued where children played. Two bodies, one fully grown, the other simply not, lain forever stilled on the cold hard ground.

Him

She was a rebel, a revolutionary, filth, hardly a person at all really. I should not care; she brought this fate upon herself. She chose to be a criminal, to live a life of depravity outside the walls of civilized society. She chose to reject the teachings of the Commander; this is the fate she brought upon herself. She deserves this, they deserve this.

No matter how many times I say the words I still cannot believe them. It is easy to believe these people deserve this fate when men with pretty words preach to you from the head of a table. It is easy to despise these people when you have been told you whole life that you should. It is easy to dismiss the opinions of others when you have never given them the slightest consideration. It is easy to hate, when to think anything else would certainly mean death.

But when I look at her, I do not see a monster. I do not see some inhuman animal that will destroy society. All I see is a girl, broken and hurt. It is easy to hate indiscriminately, when the hatred is passive and unexamined and when that hatred is forced upon you. But, when you are forced to act on that hatred, to act out violently, to decide whether another human being lives or dies, it becomes difficult to just blindly believe. I thought it would be easy, I thought I could cut her down. I read the words and I wrote the lines. I was a prized pupil. I learned to torture and I learned to kill. I practiced on nameless men and women in bright rooms, people more dead than alive by the time I encountered them. I cut on battered husks of people, eyes heavy with drugs and limbs to exhausted to resist. I look at her and do not feel the burning hatred I thought I would. I do not feel the hatred I saw in my father's eyes or the anger and disdain that paints the Commander's words. How can you take something that burns so bright and destroy it? I will not be the cause of her death. I will save her. I know they will never take me back if I betray them, I know that I will be hated and hunted, but I cannot be the man that ends her life. I cannot kill her simply because I was taught that I should want to. It was a game before, it wasn't real. I am not a murderer. I open my mouth and force the words from my throat.

"Hello…Are you alright in there?"

"Hello, I'm Draco. What's your name?

She heard the voice again and in a moment of clarity she understood that it was not her lost love come back to save her, but the boy they had deposited in the cell next to hers. She considered ignoring him. She flirted with the idea of closing her eyes and drifting back away from the pain, but she could not allow herself to miss this opportunity. It was a slow and laborious process but she managed to position herself against the wall behind which he sat. She opened her mouth to speak, and found that for a frightening second she was unable to answer his question. Her name, it seemed, had slipped her mind. It took a moment, but amongst her jumbled thoughts she found the word she needed and with a voice rough from lack of use she whispered,

"Hermione…I'm Hermione."

He responded with a small smile, "Hermione…That is a truly lovely name."

As he spoke a thought occurred to her, there was no way to know that this was real, perhaps this was another hallucination, another fevered dream. She blurted out without much consideration to her words,

"Are you real, is this real? I can never be sure really, I hear things. I hear things all the time. I'm not sure if any of this is real, I mean how can this be real? I don't even know where I am. How can this be my life…I never thought…This isn't…"

Her voice faltered and he could her breathing speed up. She was working herself into quite the state and he needed her rational if this was going to work.

"I am real, this, this is all real. I swear…I can prove it. Pull yourself just a little farther up…to the corner if you can."

At first he heard no movement and then he hears the sound of her pushing her battered body just a little further.

"There is a hole in the wall, can you see it? I can see you, can you see me?"

With her body flush against the wall of her cell she peered through a small hole into the cell neighboring hers. She could not see his entire face, but she in the darkness she could discern a pair of eyes and part of a nose, however she remained unconvinced. He raised his hand and began to pull at the dirt and rock that separated them. He was able to make the crack large enough that he could slip a few fingers through. His gentle caress did not take the pain away, but she felt a little less hopeless and for a moment she was not so cold. He felt her lips turn up in an attempt at a smile. He could not see her, but he appreciated the effort.

"Draco…It is certainly a pleasure to make your acquaintance."


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione

The wind blew my hair across my face, into my eyes and mouth. I stared through the dark strands into my father's eyes. They are sending me away. I searched out his lips with my eyes, as he continued to talk, to explain, to twist his lies to lessen his pain. I watch his teeth, tongue, and lips move together flawlessly, spinning untruths with practiced ease. I could see the words he spoke fall from his lips and I felt them hit me. He relinquished the grip he had on my upper arms. I hadn't even felt his hands.

There was no escape, no arguing, even tears could not reverse my fate. I was being sent away, to some sort of sanctuary for rebels and my parents were not to accompany me. It was no longer safe at home; a meeting had been raided the day previous, nine people were taken in. It was only a matter of time before someone talked, before they let slip the names of the two people in charge of the mutiny, the names of my parents. So they decided to send me away, my father said they would follow in a day or so, but I knew he was lying. They were going to stay behind and try to save as many people as they could. And when his men came, as they always did, my parents would fight. I knew in my heart I would never see them again. Eleven years seems like an awfully long time, but I would have liked to have known them longer.

I followed my father back into our house. We spent one last night as a family. I tried to keep my head high as I walk across the threshold. I knew that sacrifices must be made, but I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I tried to swallow them, to hold them back, to be the little soldier I must. My shoulder pushed back I made my way to kitchen. But one look from my mother and I crumbled. She swept me up into her arms and I held on with all my might. I felt my father's arms join in the embrace. There was no sleep that night, we huddled together around the fire until darkness had fallen and it is time. I stood in between my parents, each with a hand entwined in mine and we made our way to the door. My mother spoke, her eyes fixed on the darkness in front of her,

"Be brave, my Hermione, be strong." She squeezed my hand. "My beautiful girl, I would have loved to have seen you grown-"

"But, mother, you still could. Please! Just come with us. I can't…please, please. You don't have to stay, there are others who could-"

Her words were stern, "Hermione, we started this fight. We will not run. We have to see this through. To leave now would mean betraying our people, our cause." She paused. "We are not cowards, we do not run."

"I could stay with you, fight with you. I'm ready, please-"

"No," She shook her head. "This is not the time. One day, I'm sorry to say it, but one day I fear you will be called to fight and I know you will be brave, but not today. If you could…if you could just for me try and stay a child a little longer."

She pulled me into one last hug and kissed my forehead, in that way mothers always do and then that was it. It was settled. We made our way out of the house and into the woods. I turned back to catch one more glimpse of my childhood home. Then, I gripped my parents' hands tighter and kept my eyes fixed on the darkness in front of me.

Draco

He had a plan, not an amazing plan. Hell, not even something that could be considered a decent plan, but it was a plan. To keep up the pretense that he was a prisoner, the guards would come and remove him from his cell. They would drag him down the hall and then he would be given a few hours to debrief and regroup. The officers of the prison were on him the moment he entered their office, peppering him with questions. No one had expected him to break the girl in three days, but, they made sure to reiterate what would happen should he fail. There was no coddling, not for favored students, not even for the son of the Lordship's right hand. Should he fail he would be stripped of his status immediately and placed on the ground in the thick of it. Threats reasserted and with a wave of the High Inquisitor's hand he was dismissed. He rose slowly from his chair and made his way down the hall. His stomach growled, but food would have to wait they were working on a timeline. He only had eleven days. If he were unable to succeed he would be removed and someone else would move in. He strode quickly toward his dorm, running through his plan in his mind.

He could not claim that his plan was original, but simulated death was the order of the day. The men who had tortured her were careful, but he had heard stories of prisoners dying of internal bleeding or infection before the Inquisitors could get to them. She had not been in the best of health when they brought her in, thin and underfed, he hoped he could spin it that the Snatchers had roughed her up when they brought her in and the Dementors had exacerbated those injuries with their overzealous attempts at information extraction. It was plausible; energy was running high when they had brought her in. She carried valuable information, to be the man that broke her could only be beneficial. But, before any of this could even begin to take place she had to be told. They were going to have to work together if either of them was going to survive this.

Draco and Hermione

"It isn't ours to take. We don't have the right, to take the light out of other people" she whispered in the darkness.

He had no idea what she was talking about. He had been returned to his cell only moments before and she had been holding quite the conversation, with who he could not be sure. It crossed his mind that perhaps he was too late and that saving her was not the kindness it once would have been. He could only hope that once they got her out of the darkness her mind could be mended back together.

"We shouldn't have that power, we don't deserve the right. He was on the ground. One second he was there and then he was gone…Just gone. That stupid crooked smile. I tried to keep it in. It's all about pressure, you have to put pressure, but it was too much…Then he was just gone. We shouldn't have the right…"

She faded out. He waited, but it seemed she had nothing left to say. So he moved in and called to her.

"Hermione…Hermione, I have to tell you something…Give me your word you'll listen. I need to help you…and I..I can't help you if you won't listen to everything. I know I don't have the right to ask you to promise, but I need your word you'll listen."

"…Draco?"

"Hermione."

"I don't think I can do this for much longer" She whispered, "I can't…I can't seem to stay in one place. My mind, it wanders. I keep forgetting where I am." She stated solemnly, "I can't, I can't do this…"

"Listen to me! Listen! Hermione, give me your hand, now! Give me your hand."

In a small voice she replied, "Why?" She didn't even try, not really. Her hand flopped uselessly against the wall. She was fading and his window of opportunity was closing quickly. So, in a frantic motion he began to claw at the hole in the wall. He clawed at the wall until he could see her entire face and then he grabbed her hand and entwined it with his.

"This, this is real" He pressed his unshaven cheek into her cold hand. In a rough whisper, he said, "This is real, I'm real and I'm going to get you out of here. We're going to get out of here."

She stirred in her cell but her eyes were still blank and eerily vacant,

"Look at me! I need you to listen. If you want to get out of here, I need you to look at me."

He paused for what felt like the longest moment of his life. This was it. They were done. He waited too long and now she was gone and he would be next. But, then it was like something snapped back on inside of her. Brown eyes met grey, he smiled.

The Others

Harry Potter could remember quite vividly the moment he realized he loved Ginny Weasley. She was dressed in the same tattered layers everyone in the camp seemed to sport. Her face and hair were dirty. She was surrounded by men and women cleaning weapons, making bandages, mending shoes that were beyond repair. Encircled by war and darkness and yet for some unfathomable reason she had a flower in her hair. She should have been spending nights giggling in the darkness with her friends. She should have been fighting with her mother and writing love letters to silly boys. But she wasn't, she was sleep deprived and underfed. She was standing in the middle of a crowded and dank campsite wearing her brother's clothes teaching children how to sharpen knives. This same girl was deadly with a blade and she could read tracks better than anyone in camp. But for some reason she had picked up a little yellow flower and tucked it behind her ear. He loved her for it.

He made up his mind in that moment that he going to marry that girl one day. It is not easy to find something good in this fucked world, but when you do you have to hold on, until the sky falls down and everything turns to dust.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco and Hermione

Eyes locked on one another. He ran through the plan once more in his mind. He had the drug hidden in his shoe. A little glass vile filled with a pale greenish liquid rested beside his little toe. He hoped it would be enough. There was not much to her, a little should go a long way and hopefully take effect quickly. Once the elixir worked its magic he would put his training to use. Words were his weapon. He would use his silver tongue to convince the Dementors to break protocol and take the body to the infirmary without informing the High Inquisitor. Then it was simply a matter of disarming and disabling the Dementors, escaping the compound and eluding the chase that was sure to follow, clearly an easy task.

But, first things first, she needed to be told. It would be easiest to mislead her. _Drink this; it'll help you fall asleep. Drink this; it'll make it all go away._ But, he didn't want her to think he was helping her to die. He didn't want to see the relief that would likely work its way across her face. It bothered him that such a creature should willingly drink death. So somewhere between his rooms and his cell he had decided to tell her. To tell her who he was and to hope she would trust in him to help her escape. Besides, it wouldn't do to have her discover his identity when they were running for their lives. She was going to need him once they were outside the gates and though he loathed admitting it, he could not navigate the woods the way she, even in her most incapacitated state, could. The rebels knew the terrain, it was a decided advantage they had over his Lordship's men. A rebel spy would know these woods through and through. She could get them to safety if he could only get them out.

"There is no way out of here. You have to know that. People never come back from The Hole. It can't be done." She whispered.

Now was a good a time as any, "You're right. It can't be done. Not without help of someone on the inside, not without a traitor to guide the way." He waited, let the news drop and settle in her brain.

"Draco…Draco." She rolled the name around her tongue. "Draco Malfoy, damn it you're Draco Malfoy."

Now that was unexpected. He had been prepared for confusion, yelling, more nonsensical word salad, but he had not anticipated she would know his name.

` "I knew it… I knew your name was important. Those eyes, you look just like him you know. You look just like your father. Just like the fucking right hand. You're telling me you're gonna play traitor, huh. Give it all up?" She let out a small laugh and continued in a small voice. "I don't believe you."

He found that for the first time he could remember, the right words to soothe the situation escaped him. She wasn't supposed to know his father. This complicated things. Still, she looked at him like she expected a response, her unspoken 'why' partnered with a 'convince me' hung in the air. Why would a boy with the keys to castle give it all up for a girl he doesn't know? Why betray his father and everything he knows? As he sorted through his thoughts he found it difficult to articulate what had changed. How in a moment he knew. He knew he needed to run and she needed follow.

"I'm not...I can't do the things they said I should…I was supposed to steal your secrets and then laugh at your execution." He paused and continued on in a firm voice. "I don't want to do that… This is important. I knew it when I saw you the night they brought you in. You and me, this is important. I don't know why, but it is. So yeah, I'm saying I am willing to throw it all away. I'm going to get out of here and I want you to come with me."

She exhaled loudly, "I'm tired…Tired of the games and the plots and the ploys. I won't tell you anything. No matter what you do. So if that's the plan, I'd recommend making another one." She closed her eyes and drifted off.

It was cold. Her parents gripped her hands tightly as they made their way out into the darkness. They kept silent as they trekked through the quiet forest because quite honestly what was there left to say. It was damp and she could smell the beginnings of the fall. They walked and walked. She was tired. Her legs ached, but they kept walking. She looked up at the moon settled between the stars. It was whole and bright, beginning its descent back below the horizon. A loud crack ruined the silence. Two shadows emerged from the trees. They made it.

"Hermione"

Someone was calling her name. But, that wasn't right. No one spoke that night. Not her parents as they relinquished the grip on her hands or the two men who took possession of her. Her eyes filled with tears but she never said a word. Everyone nodded their goodbyes and then turned to walk their separate ways. One man placed a hand on her shoulder as they led her away. She turned only once and caught her last glimpse of her father's face and her mother's back. Then she fixed her eyes on the darkness in front of her. She heard her name again, this time more insistent, more a hiss than a whisper.

"Hermione, come back. Look at me. If we're going to do this we need to do it now. Hermione! Now!"

She was cold and her body ached. Draco, the voice, she remembered. She still didn't believe him. People don't just turn traitor on a whim. It was time to make a choice: lay in the muck and fade away on their time or play along with the boy. If she couldn't escape maybe she could push the boy and die on her terms.

"What do we do?"

He was taken aback. Maybe they would pull this off.

"I have something I need you to drink. It'll knock you out, slow everything down so it seems like you're dead. All you have to do is play the convincing dead girl, who doesn't really die in the process, and I'll do the rest…and I need you to pick a place we can go. Somewhere we can hide out while we figure out the after."

"I know somewhere, but I'll have to be awake to get you there. What about supplies? If we have to hole up for a while we're going to need provisions."

"Everything is set. The dose is big enough to incapacitate you and small enough that it should wear off quickly. As for supplies, I've got enough to keep us going until we can figure something else out. It's all ready when you are."

Silence fell between the two prisoners. Each lost in their own thoughts; Draco anticipating his next move and Hermione toying with the idea this is actually an elaborate fever induced dream. Their bodies tense with anticipation.

"Okay. So let's do this. Dose me." He removed the vile from his shoe and passed the drug through the wall that divided them. She kept her eyes on his as he slipped the smooth glass into her grasp. She pulled the cork loose with her teeth and emptied the contents of the container into her mouth.

The Others

Sometimes when you look at her you get the distinct impression someone didn't love her right. It's something in the eyes. You look at her and it breaks your heart. Someone cut her up deep inside. They slashed her up and let fester. When everyone would gather around the fire, she was there, but never more than a shadow lingering in the background. She moved liked she was afraid to disturb the air. Luna never spoke unless prompted. She never seemed to be around until she was needed. It was Severus Snape that brought her into the camp. When stores ran low, Snape tried to gather what he could to make due and one day hiding behind the willow he was intent on gathering he found a girl. She was small, with a delicate face, light hair, and brown eyes. Her most striking features, unfortunately, were not her wide brown eyes, but the large purple bruise forming on the entire left side of her face, the blood smeared on her chin and the finger-shaped bruises on her thin arms. She watched him before. He was sure of it. He had caught a glimpse of her once, an oval face with blonde hair disappearing into the distance.

He approached her and she fixed her eyes on the ground, but she didn't run and he took that as an indication he should proceed. He knelt on the ground where she sat, knees locked to her chest.

"Did someone hurt you?" It was a stupid question, he was more than aware. Clearly she agreed because she did not respond. So he tried again.

"Why are you watching me?"

"You aren't gathering the right things…You don't have any idea what you are doing." She answered simply, but her eyes remained locked on her feet.

"Is that right? What is it I should be gathering then?" She pulled two smaller bags from the black satchel she kept at her side.

"This will help with infection. This one is especially good for burns. You have to cook it down and make a paste. Don't make the paste ahead of time, wait until you need it. That's important." She peered up at him from under her eyelashes and slowly lifted her eyes until her irises locked with his. She reached out to touch him when someone bellowed in the distance. He couldn't quite discern the name, but she jumped to attention immediately and ran off without another word.

The girl in the woods would occupy his thoughts for the rest of the day and into the night. Most people avoided Severus Snape. The majority were rebuffed by the nasty scars that marred his body. The burns covered not only his face but actually ran down the left side of his body stopping around mid-thigh and were particularly awful on his chest and arm. However, aside from donning a mask or condemning himself to wallow in the darkness somewhere, his burns could never really be a secret. But, he made a concerted effort to ensure that the extent of his injury was never evident. The grievous damage to his body and the pain it caused, that was his to bear, it his punishment. It was not that people knew he was scarred that bothered him, that wasn't why he hid his scars. What he disliked most was the knowing look that often accompanied the stares. People read a story in his scars, but it wasn't the right story. They thought he was a man to be pitied. But they wouldn't think that if they knew. If they knew what really happened that day, if they knew his was hand that lit the fires that burned up all those people, they wouldn't pity him. He never shared the details of what occurred that day. It was an accident, truth be told, but he was still responsible for the death of his friends. He buried the truth deep inside. He lived with the pain because he was too much of a coward to reveal the truth about that day. People would say it was an accident, that he should forgive himself. He disagreed; this was the fate he deserved for the role he played in killing those people. He should suffer. They certainly did.

The fair haired wood nymph did not stare and when she looked at him it was not pity or fear in her eyes, it was something else entirely. It was like she knew, like she understood his scars in a way no one else ever could. The next morning he ventured back out into the forest. When he came upon the patch of grass near the river where he had seen her last, he found not a girl, but piles of neatly sorted herbs and plants. He knew she would not be returning today. So he gathered up the supplies and made his way back underground.

The next time he saw the girl she was covered in dirt and drenched in sweat. Her hands were red and raw and her left eye was swollen shut. She was standing next to the river like she expected him. He approached her slowly, like one would approach a wounded animal. She was clearly agitated, her eyes were frantic but she did not run.

"I killed him, I killed them both" she announced in a rough whisper.

He was taken aback, "Killed who? Who have you killed?"

"My parents."


	5. Chapter 5

Draco and Hermione

It was not instantaneous, it took time for the elixir to work its way through her body. She lay there with her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to meet his gaze.

"I hate waiting. Like before it rains, you know? You can see the change. The sky darkens to grey and all the animals skitter away. You can feel the pressure against your skin. You can smell it, hell you can even taste it. But, you can't touch it. Not yet. You know it's going to happen, but you still have to wait. Wait until the sky decides it's time to break; wait until everything starts tumbling down. I hate waiting."

"It shouldn't be much longer." He whispered, "We'll be out of here soon."

She laughed, "I'll believe that when I see it."

"I promise."

"I hardly know you. Your promises really don't mean all that much. I am still fairly certain you mean to kill me. People don't just change. That's not the way it works."

"You don't have to believe me. I'm going to show you. We're going to get out of here."

"You're a stupid boy. If you really wanted out, you would just run. Not waste time dragging a half dead stranger behind you."

"Not one without the other."

"What?" She was fading, she could feel it.

"I can't promise I'll get you out of here. Chances are slim we'll make it out of the compound alive and even if we do we probably won't get very far before they find us. So I'm going to make a different promise, not one without the other. You die, I die. I live, you live. I promise."

"Why...why would you promise a thing like that?"

He didn't get a chance to answer. Her eyes fell shut and she faded away before he could explain, thankfully, because he really didn't have an answer. Not one without the other that was just how it had to be.

Luna

She awoke with a start. Something was unfolding. For days her dreams had been filled with a girl and boy together in the dark. Then, brown eyes met grey and he smiled. 'Not one without the other' he had promised her. It was Hermione, she was certain now and a boy she did not know. They were going to try and escape. It wasn't clear if they would succeed. All of the pieces must not have fallen into place yet. She wondered if maybe it was time to tell Severus about the content of her dreams. He was one of the few people who knew about the dreams. When he had brought her into the camp six years ago, she told him everything; all about her parents and her gift. Together they decided those were secrets better kept between the two. Over the years, others had been brought in. Remus knew her story, Hermione too. The four had formed a sort of surrogate family within the camp. They were a ragtag group of misfits as Remus liked to say.

When Dumbledore has announced that Hermione was missing, she instantly looked for Severus. His face revealed nothing, he remained as composed as ever, but when Remus reached for his hand he did not pull away. Severus had been one of the men that collected the girl from her parents that cold autumn night. He wasn't the man that wrapped his arm around her small shoulders and whispered little reassurances along the way. He wasn't the man who carried her when she was too tired to walk any farther, but oddly enough she chose him to attach herself too. Luna had been working in the infirmary with Severus for about a year when Hermione embedded herself into their lives. On her first night in camp Hermione was placed with the Weasley family. They had a daughter about her age, but, the next day she followed Severus into the infirmary tent. She didn't pester him with questions or talk incessantly; she just took a seat on floor and started rolling bandages, so he let her stay. After a few hours she left. Every afternoon like clockwork she would make her way to the infirmary and find some task to keep herself busy. Neither Luna nor Severus ever mentioned the way the silent and serious girl worked her way into their routine. She may have kept her things in the Weasley encampment and to this day she still shared a tent with Ginny, but the infirmary that was home.

Luna worked her way out from under her blankets and quickly dressed. She had thought like everyone else that it was unlikely they would ever see Hermione again. They hadn't started to mourn the younger girl just yet. It was an unspoken rule to wait a few weeks after a disappearance. Unless there was a body, it was customary to wait. Sometimes, people long thought dead would wander into camp. Severus was a perfect example and there had been others over the years, not many, but a few. So they would wait. She hadn't been back to camp since Dumbledore had announced the news three weeks earlier. It was too much; she felt like she was drowning on dry land. Voices were too loud, people were to close. Everyone was on edge; she could hardly handle her own feelings, let alone all the others' emotions. So, she left. She had never officially moved into Hogwarts. She could never adjust to being underground like that, so she maintained her childhood home. She sat down to pull her socks onto her feet and felt a wave emotion hit her. The dreams, the empathy, sometimes it was challenging. She had spent the last three weeks working on saying goodbye to Hermione and now it appeared that she wasn't gone.

She grabbed an apple on her way out the door. As she made her way towards Hogwarts she decided she wouldn't tell Remus and Severus about her dream just yet. It wasn't fair to get their hopes up, better they think she is dead.

Ginny and Harry

Her face was smudged with dirt and her hair was loose and wild when she looked up at him and suggested he take her to his bed. Everything had fallen apart. They had been betrayed by one of their own. They hadn't made that public just yet. Hermione had been sent to meet one of their players on the inside. Cho Chang's body was discovered by the recovery team sent after Hermione. Dumbledore and Harry were in agreement that the body was a message. Ginny had headed up the recovery team. She had been prepared to find Hermione's body or more likely nothing at all, but indication of betrayal, she wasn't prepared for that. She had known hard times, she had lost her brother, friends, but she had always had faith that they would succeed. They had each other, they had a cause, but now we were betraying each other. The faith that once shielded her had crumbled. She saw the grey and she saw the shadows. She felt the darkness and heard its whispers. She was cold and she hurt. Somewhere deep inside, there was an ache that nothing seemed to touch. They had been at this for so long. She always thought that sooner or later she just wouldn't feel anything. She prayed to be numb, but she felt every failure and every loss as keenly as the last. There was no relief, no escape. It lingered always. He could take the pain away, if only for a moment.

His first instinct was to refuse, to turn her away. This wasn't the time for things like this. He wanted her, there was no denying it. He was drawn to her, always had been. But not like this, he didn't want her like this. He wanted the Ginny that danced in the rain, who was wild and untamed. He wanted the girl with yellow flower in her hair and a knife in her hand. This girl, broken and defeated, this wasn't his girl.

"Ashes, ashes we all fall down. I ruin you, you ruin me. It's just what people do. We take and take until there is nothing left, until we're all just shells, until we're all just pieces." He whispered.

She cocked her head to the side, like she didn't quite understand. Her request still hung unanswered in the air. He closed his eyes as he embraced her.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco and Hermione

She was out. It was time to move. He stood and wrapped his hands around the bars of his cell. He peered out into the darkness and yelled. He heard the footsteps of the Dementors as the approached his cell. He took a few quick breaths, when the Dementors reached his cell he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

He started talking as quickly as he could, "She's dead. I think she's dead. She stopped moving. I mean she was hardly breathing when I got here, but she's not breathing at all anymore. She's not doing anything. Do you know what will happen to us, if she's dead? Do you have any idea what he'll do to us? Any idea?

"Slow down. She's not dead. I'm sure she's just unconscious." He exchanged a glance with the other guard.

"This is your first time, right? Sometimes they just knock out."

"I am not a fucking half-wit; I think I understand the difference between unconscious and dead. She. Isn't. Breathing. Check her, you'll see."

The taller guard rolled his eyes, but the shorter guard began to appear concerned.

"Goyle, maybe we should just check her. No harm in it right? It'll make the kid calm down, anyway."

Before the other guard could give his consent, he pulled the keys from his pocket and opened the door. He entered the cramped cell and knelt beside her still body. He shook her, no response. He slapped her face. Still she made no movement. His breathing began to speed up.

"Greg, get in here. She ain't fucking breathing, man. She's dead."

The larger man pushed himself into the cell and examined the body. She was already getting cold. They were fucked.

"What are we gonna do? She's dead. Shit. Shit. There's no way out of this. He's going to kill us."

Draco smiled in his cell. He hoped to play their panic for all it was worth, "I might be able to restart her heart, but you gotta let me out here. We need to get to the medic's quarters, now."

The smaller man fumbled with his keys, "Focus! Get me out of here and I can fix this. No one will ever know. We just have to hurry."

He finally regained motor coordination and released the lock on Draco's cell door. He exited his cell and began to give orders,

"You," he pointed to the smaller guard, "Pick her up. We'll take her to medical. You," he gestured to the other man, "Run down to medical. Get the medic out of there. Make something up, just get him away. Go!"

The larger man ran off. Step one was complete. They were out of the cells. Next step, incapacitate the witnesses. Divide and conquer seemed to be his best option, no way he could take on the trained guards. The heavy baton swinging from the guard's belt caught his eye. He lifted the baton before the man could turn around. The baton met the guard's face with all his strength. The man fell forward, but it took two more swings to knock him out. He didn't check to see if the guard was breathing, he didn't want to know. He picked Hermione up and kicked the door to her cell behind him. If the guard woke up at least he would be stalled for a moment. He made his way towards medical as quickly as he could. It was a disconcerting feeling, carrying a body that felt dead but wasn't. At least he hoped she wasn't. He turned onto a well lit hallway and ran into the tall guard,

"The other guard is keeping watch. You get the medic out? It's clear?"

"Yeah, I said they need him over in HQ, no hurry. He'll be gone at least a half hour."

He was actually impressed, his Lordship's head quarters were clear across the compound.

"Alright good work. Get the door, so I can get her on the table."

He laid Hermione gently on the table and looked around. He had to get the other guard out of the way and fast. A pale liquid caught his eye. The tall guard was on edge, his hands were shaking. He could work with this.

"Man, you need to relax. Your heart is going to stop," He poured a large dose of the liquid into a container, "Drink this, it'll help."

The taller man eyes him suspiciously, "Fuck are you playing at?" He grabbed the drink from Draco's hand to sniff the substance. "That's poison, Butterfly Dust."

He advanced towards Draco, his hand inching towards the blade strapped to his thigh. Draco's heart was racing. So he wasn't just brawn, apparently he found the one Dementor who had been trained in poison detection. The larger man cocked his head, waiting for an answer.

"Well it's a good thing you didn't drink it. You would have been dead in minutes. That would have been unfortunate."

While the Dementor tried to tease out what exactly the blond boy's intention was, Draco grabbed the sharpest implement he could find and jammed it into the larger man's neck. It seemed like a better idea before he did it. Draco was trained in hand to hand combat; he just had never been very good at it. Two rough hands were around his neck in seconds. His head slammed against the wall once, twice, three times. The pain was excruciating. A knee connected with his abdomen and he fell to the ground. He curled up the best he could, but the blows kept coming. He tried to grab the man's leg only to have his fingers stomped into the hard dirt floor, but then the blows stopped. The taller man crouched down and turned Draco's face towards his,

"I'm not going to kill you. Don't worry your pretty little face. If you're dead and the girl is dead, I go down for the whole thing. That's not going to happen. So you're going back to your cell and…"

A silver blade ended his thoughts. Blood splattered across Draco's face as the guard collapsed onto his back. She dropped the bloody knife and fell to her knees. She took a deep ragged breath. She went through the motions of emptying the contents are her stomach, which was difficult considering it was already empty. He made an effort to stand up. It took a moment, but he found the momentum to make it onto his feet. He wiped the blood from his face and took a moment to take in the scene before him. His vision was blurry, but the reality was clear. She had saved his life.

"Thanks."

"You're terrible," she said between hard coughs, "at this? You're aware?"

He would have been offended, but there honestly wasn't time.

Lord Voldemort

Tom Riddle did not believe and that was the cruelest trick he ever played. His followers were impassioned. They believed ardently. They destroyed and killed in his name. They struck swiftly and eagerly bolstered by assurances that they were in the right. But, Tom Riddle did not believe. He knew it would be easy to gather an army up. He just needed something to unite them. Hate would work. Hate brings people together.

But, who to hate? What arbitrary line could he draw to create an us and a them? The answer came to him one night. It was simple. Blood. Divide the pure from the impure. It was an age old distinction. The ruling class was clean and worthy; it was a matter of birth. It was a blood claim to superiority. There were old families, disillusioned with the way the times had changed. People with no right had risen to the top. Commoners were writing law. Farmers had servants. With old money on his side he could make a move. He could raise an army. He could make the ultimate power play, because that was always the end game. It was never about hate; hate was a means to an end. The goal was power, absolute, unquestioned power.

They would never see it coming. Their minds clouded with rage and entitlement, he would use their height to rise to the top. They would bow to him and never question the fact that their pureblood knees sunk to the ground the same as all the rest. People make it so easy.

Remus Lupin

We don't play for keeps. Most people are just passing through your life on their way to somewhere else, someone else. But, some people stick. They sneak in and set up camp. Wrap their greedy little fingers around your heart. I never stayed in one place for very long. I was born into the nomadic tradition. The Lupins and other assorted relatives were drifters and grifters. We would set up camp on the outskirts of settlement. Maybe perform a show or too. Ply our wares. Take things that no one would notice and then disappear when an angry farmer's wife raised the alarm.

I could never imagine living a sedentary life. It seemed absurd the way people hollowed out little existences and never thought to move beyond them. People lived their whole lives in one place. I could never stay in one place for more than a year. Everyone thinks they have it handled. They all think they have the world figured, but most people have never seen the world. How can you know where and what you are is right, if you have never tried anything else? I've spent some 30 odd years working my way back and forth. I still don't feel quite whole yet. There are things I still need to figure out. There are lines that still need to be crossed and boundaries that have yet to be drawn.

I was attracted to them; these rebels, who cloistered themselves underground in an impenetrable fortress with a ridiculous name. Hogwarts seemed a place I should stay a while. It may be their cause. I might have finally discovered a something I was willing to stand for. But, if I'm honest, it was probably the man with the scars on his face and the two shadows who occupied his infirmary.


	7. Chapter 7

James Potter

I don't understand social interaction. You talk, I talk, but neither of us is interesting. Nothing we say matters. I talk, you talk. It's tedious and annoying. Pausing in between, waiting your turn to speak. Holding my thought until you finish yours. Maybe they can tell I don't care. Maybe they can tell I don't really hear their words and I hardly ever consider them. That would explain the distance that seems to have fallen between me and ever one else, that ever expanding crevice that is making it harder and harder to care about any of them.

I tried. I did. I tried to say the right words and think how they think. I tried to be like everybody else, but I could not quite understand the rules. I could never grasp the moments in between motion, in between the words. I can say the right thing, but I can't make the face that says the same. I don't know how to start and sometimes I forget to stop. Some days aren't like this. Some days I glide in and glide out, smooth and easy. But, most days I get stuck or I don't even try at all. Some days it's just easier to mind myself and leave everyone else to mind the store.

Some days, I can't imagine being one of them and I can't imagine caring about any of them. I always think of time in terms of before Lily and after. I hear her sometimes. The doctor says she isn't real, that she's fiction, a fantasy of a fractured mind. Part of me believes them, but only part and we don't exist in parts, we exist in wholes. So you can understand my dilemma.

It's like losing a word on the tip of your tongue. I know she existed. I know it, but I just can't get it back. Every night I fall asleep and pray to wake up back there. That's how it happened before. I fell asleep and then I woke up here. Here is apparently the same as there, but with a few major alterations. It's the alterations I am struggling with. Things do not just stop existing. Matter can't up and vanish without a trace, so I know I can get back. It's just matter of doing it right. However, the sterile hands that hold me, force sleep into my veins and fog into my brain, which is making escape rather difficult.

There is cake. We're celebrating a faceless girl's birth. Someone is singing, a murmur in the background of the excited conversations of the party-goers. I watch everyone move amongst themselves, laughing and talking. Every once in a while they will surreptitiously glance my way. I think they are silently hoping for a scene. I've just been taken off restriction. Apparently throwing chairs is no way to ingratiate yourself into a new world. Breaking someone's nose is also frowned upon. I didn't mean to be violent, but they wouldn't listen to my words. They want me to think things that are untrue.

Time is pressing on and the heat and their voices are pressing against my skin slowly suffocating me. An overwhelming urge to run resonates in my mind. I just need to be away. I can't sit here and play pretend with them. I know if I am not careful, if I cannot pretend to be calm, strong hands will lock around my arms and hold me tight. The pretty blond girl will pour sleep down my throat. I can't give into the anger pooling inside me. I cannot scream. I cannot hit. I lose my momentum mid-stride. I have nowhere to be, nowhere to go. I crumble to the floor. I hear their voices, the loud and the calm and the shrill and the cloying. I draw my legs close to my body, despite the heat, and try to make myself as small as I can. I wonder if I can just dissipate into nature, just fade away.

Can you be two different people? One here and one there, but both essentially one? Will I come together one day? I am not from here. It's like trying to push a piece where it does not belong. You can keep trying but it's never going to fit. I feel like I've been jammed in somewhere that isn't home. It's tight in some places, but there's room to wobble. This is not where I go.

They say she is gone. They say we have a son. People are worried about me. The boy with the messy hair, he isn't mine. He says he is our son, but I know he is lying. I know he is wrong, but the longer I am here the less of the right I remember. The pieces of my past are disappearing into the shadows. I remember she was real, sometimes I am less certain. I've been stranded here for so long.

I woke up in the infirmary alone. Lily was nowhere in sight. She was all I was sure about. They seem not at all concerned that I cannot recall the manner in which I received the beating that restricted me to my bed. I still cannot remember where I was. I think I lost something important in the trauma. Delicate grey matter got jostled and information was locked away. It's just time to rest, time to recover. They tried to send me back to live someone else's life, but I couldn't remember why I was here. I know it is something important. I should be doing something, but I cannot remember.

I realized I had made a grave error. They will never believe me. I've played my cards all wrong. I should have gone along with the rouse. I should have just pretended to be this other man. I should have kept the broken memories of my other self private, because now they think I am unfit. Now, I have to bide my time in lace-less shoes, until they decide I am safe.

I dream of her at night. Her beautiful face scrunched in sleep on the pillow next to mine. Most of my other self has slipped away, but Lily remains embedded in my brain. They say she is dead, but I know that is untrue.


	8. Chapter 8

Severus and Remus

James Potter head snapped back and with an unfortunate crunch, Severus Snape's nose shifted to an unnatural angle. He subdued the flailing man through the sharp pain and blurred vision. Once Potter was brought to the ground, Lupin helped to hold him down as Lovegood poured the liquid down his throat. It wouldn't knock him out, but it should bring him down enough to make sure no one else was injured. Snape had always shared a difficult relationship with the man. James Potter was arrogant and foolhardy. Many thought he would be tapped to lead one day, but Snape never saw it. There was never anything cautious or delicate about the man. He was loyal, but what many called brave was better identified as recklessness. He got his wife killed with one of his impulsive schemes and he got himself tortured almost beyond recognition by the band of Deatheaters he tried to overpower. They had found him though and Snape sewed him back together, but, Potter never really recovered. He was able-bodied now, but his mind never mended.

Although, Snape suspected that Potter was ill before his impromptu attack. Potter had always been reckless, but around the time his son was born his behavior had become more irrational. He was prone to bouts of depression, interspersed with bouts of excessive enthusiasm. Evans tried to hide it, but she had come to Snape for help after she had found Potter carrying their two year old son off into woods unaccompanied. Potter was out of control and she hoped that Snape could provide some kind of aid. But, he did not have the knowledge to cure this kind of ill. A few days later, Potter took off and his wife followed. When he was recovered, the knowledge that Evans was gone coupled with the trauma of the violence he had experienced shattered an already cracked mind.

The younger Potter watched his father impassively. He was two when he had been effectively orphaned. He knew the man curled up on the ground was his father, but beyond that Snape had no understanding of the relationship they shared. He imagined it was a troubled, but Snape and the younger boy had never been close. The child and the medic never really crossed paths, except when Snape tended to his father. He had been raised by the Weasleys and Dumbledore. The boy was raised to be a soldier, to be a leader. To spew rhetoric and organize troops. Snape did not involve himself in the politics or action of war. He had chosen his side and he would stand beyond Dumbledore until there was nothing left. But, he had lost himself in violence once. He reveled in it, but after the fires, after that night, he removed himself from the fight. He stood with Dumbledore, he stood against the Dark Lord, but tending to the injured that was everything he had left to contribute. He was not sure he deserved a life after this war, but he knew if he did not step back he would lose himself in the violence again. He would disappear in a cloud of blood and rage. He would become a monster, someone unfit to live in a peaceful world.

The boy said nothing as he turned and walked away, the Weasley girl hurried off behind him. The Weasley twins came to collect the elder Potter maybe they would take him outside for air, Snape did not know, he did not care. James Potter was a lost cause. He had other issues to concern himself with. He nose was broken and Granger was missing, likely captured and if the information he overheard was correct, possibly betrayed. She was a grown woman, nearly 20 years old. It was no longer his responsibility to care about her well being. It had never really been his responsibility, but she had weaseled her way into his home. So he looked after the girl from time to time. The last time he saw her she had been laughing with Lovegood about something Lupin had said. Lovegood was braiding her hair, while Granger sewed a patch onto a shirt. It was a scene he had observed many times. It was nothing extraordinary. Nothing about that moment suggested he would never see the girl again. He ran through memory again and again. It didn't seem final. He couldn't imagine never hearing that laugh again or removing the chair she claimed as her own that first morning. He had been lazy. He let the girl in. He forgot to anticipate that she would leave him, that he would lose her. Seven years she filled up space in his home and now there would always be an empty chair.

"Let me look at that nose," Lupin interrupted his thoughts. He had made his way back to the infirmary, but he had paused on the threshold. "Sit. I'll clean the blood off." Lupin grabbed his upper arm and directed him towards a surgical table. He moved to shake the other man off, but Lupin simply pulled harder.

He could feel his anger rising, he did not like to be mollycoddled or lead about. He pushed Lupin hard. The other man lost his balance and fell into his makeshift desk.

"Don't pull me about like some kind of child. I am fully capable of cleaning up my own blood. Why don't you go do something useful? Or maybe go tend to Potter? I'm sure he'd be happy to have you clean up after him," he snapped and turned to leave.

"You're upset," Lupin said as he righted himself. He threw himself into the other man's path, "But, if you're going to push people about and run off like a child, then I see no other option, but to treat you like one," He grabbed the taller man's arm once more and directed him towards a table, "Sit."

He wanted to shake him off. He wanted to push the other man to the ground. Wanted to yell, to lash out, but he didn't. He acquiesced.

Charlie Weasley had brought Lupin into the camp. Lupin had been serving as a contact on the outside. He was heavily involved in black market food exchange that had emerged following the Dark Lord's occupation. He came with Weasley into Hogwarts and disappeared deep into the tunnels. He emerged relatively unscathed a few days later. Lupin was the man who could get things. The camp welcomed him with relatively open, but reasonably suspicious, arms.

Remus wiped the blood from Severus's face and examined the nose. It wasn't broken; it looked like it would heal alright on its own. When he was done with his ministrations, he pressed a kiss into the other man's forehead. Severus exhaled deeply. He leaned forward and let his head rest against the other man's chest. They remained that way for a moment, but then it was time to move again. Remus needed to meet with a contact and Severus needed to restock his infirmary. Shoulder to shoulder the two men walked slowly out of the encampment. They parted ways with a nod. Remus would return home late that night and Severus would be waiting.

Harry and Ginny

"Because I can't be what they need me to be." He said as she reached out to brush the hair from his eyes.

"And what is that?"

"A leader. They need me to gather them up and say everything will be okay. Tell them what to do next. I can't tell them that. It isn't okay, it hasn't been for months. And what comes next? I don't know. I just don't know." He linked their fingers together. "It's all about to come tumbling down. Something is in the works. They're going to make a move and we have no fucking idea what is coming...and if she broke, they could be on their way here right now."

"Granger is strong. She's resilient."

"People can only take so much. They'll throw everything they have at her. Who would blame her if she broke?...I just…" He closed his eyes, his words trailing off.

"What?"

"It's nothing. It's just she…"

She interrupted, "Never should have let herself be taken alive?"

He was relieved. She understood. It was a terrible thought, but it needed to be said. Hermione Granger had dangerous secrets. There was protocol and procedure. Every person who exited the camp was equipped with the means to end their life. Secrecy kept the rebels alive. Hogwarts was their stronghold, it was the only real defense that they had.

"Chang probably gave them that too. I bet she never had a chance," she abruptly sat up and pulled away from Harry.

"Ginny." He untangled himself from the blankets and moved to sit beside her. "We'll be okay.

"I just don't know how this will be okay. We can't trust anyone. They're all fucking traitors in the making."

"It'll be okay." That is all he can reply. It's not the answer she needs and it's not the answer she wants. It's not even really an answer; it's empty words said to fill the space where better thoughts should be. There are so many other things he could say, but the words catch in his throat and no matter his intentions all he can reply is, "You'll be okay."

Her eyes sought out his, but he stared at his feet, "We'll be okay."

He tried to think of something new to say. He tried to find words to fix it. They were working blind here. But, whatever was coming, they would hold it together.


	9. Chapter 9

Remus

He could love him. It would be easy, but he was certain the taciturn and stubborn man would never let him. They had struck up a tentative bond. A bond he would hesitate to call friendship, should the word send the other man running in the opposite direction.

Severus Snape was an enigma. Before they faced the ferocity of his tongue most people were rebuffed by the nasty scars that marred his face. People chose not to interact with the man and he appeared to appreciate the wide berth he was given by the other residents of the camp. He only kept the company of two orphan girls; an almost preternaturally pretty blond, who couldn't have been more than 16, and a dark haired girl of about 13. It was a strange arrangement they shared. The blond came and went as she pleased. No one seemed to know much of anything about her, except she was a gifted healer. It appeared Severus had brought the girl into camp one night a few years back. It was not clear what he told Dumbledore, but the old man let her stay. She worked in the infirmary with Severus and was one of the few people he appeared to tolerate. Remus had been in camp almost two months before he ever even heard the girl speak. Maybe her quiet nature appealed to the man, maybe it was her talent. Whatever the reason, the two formed an efficient partnership. Severus would raise his eyebrow and Luna would nod and go off and fetch whatever it was they needed. He hadn't yet figured out the delicate blond, but Hermione Granger, now she had a reputation. Her parents were heroes. Or so the people said. They had been killed a few days after the curly haired girl had been sent to Hogwarts. She was quiet too. He had watched the odd trio's interactions. They ate together every night and he had rarely heard a word uttered between them. She was the best. At everything and anything, you could ask anyone and they would tell you. The other children avoided her. Even adults were startled by her intensity. She was always efficient and she was gaining a reputation for being ruthless.

In his head he called them the fearsome threesome. All three kept people at a distance and he knew why. They were different, but that wasn't all. They were dangerous. He could feel it. He could understand. Remus established friendships easily. He was affable, everyone like him. But, the former grifter had honed the tools of his trade. In camp, he was everyone's friend. But, on the outside, he was a man to be feared. You didn't become a major player in the underground without dancing around the boundaries of just and unjust of good and bad. Some people would call him a hero, but others would say he was a monster. It all depends on what side you decided to stand on. It never bothered Remus. He didn't think of himself in terms of good or bad. He was whatever he needed to be. But, these people, the Order of the Phoenix, they were the kind of people who didn't understand shades of grey. They only understood black and white. You were one or the other. But, Albus Dumbledore was no innocent. He saw the shadows his followers chose to ignore. He would play the villain; he would make choices the others couldn't. Which is why he welcomed the Snapes of the world into his camp, he needed people who weren't mired down by black and white. He needed people who understood the situation was always fluid. He didn't want heroes, because things were never that simple. They really thought Riddle would fall and everything would be different. They would ride in and reestablish law that was fair and just. Heroes and villains operate in extremes, but people don't. Dumbledore needed people who understood that.

As did Tom Riddle. There were whispers. Tom Riddle and his merry men were going to attempt to bind him to their cause. But, he was never one to take a side without observing the other. Riddle offered power and money. He also offered a world with a hierarchy based on blood. He may have wanted Remus now, but once he was no longer useful away he would be sent. Dumbledore and his ragtag misfits offered a world with possibility. You could change your stars, be more than your blood, be more than your father. He wasn't naïve; he knew the chosen still existed even in a world of supposed equality. But, he decided he much preferred the illusion of mobility and of fairness that Dumbledore's world offered. He was drawn to their cause. So he offered his services before Riddle could lock him down.

He thought Hogwarts would just be another stop on his journey. Things would settle and he would more on. The way it had always been. Now he wasn't so sure.

The Order

The meeting lingered on deep into the night. From beneath her hood, Ginny Weasley's tired eyes scanned the room. Albus Dumbledore presided from the end of the long table. Entirely in his element, he orchestrated the meeting with a practiced ease. Quelling arguments, facilitating discussion, relaying new information, Dumbledore was wholly in control. Nevertheless, etched in every line on his face, resonating in every word was an undeniable undercurrent of urgency. He had seen war before and this one drew closer every day. He knew what would come, impossible choices, painful sacrifices, and loss. Loss of sleep, loss of hope, loss of innocence, loss of life, he knew the risk they all took in following him. He did not take this responsibility lightly, he intended to use all his strength and all his cunning to save as many as he could. With his chin resting on steepled fingers, he eyes focused an exhausted Remus Lupin who was delivering some less than stellar news.

Ginny looked out on the ragtag crew that had assembled around the fire. The entire Order was present tonight. Violence was escalating, unexplained fires kept cropping up, but Riddle remained eerily quiet. This left no question in the mind of the members of the Order, something was coming. Decisions must be made, plans must be laid, every piece of information they could ring from informants needed to be gleaned. Therefore, they all gathered: a former teacher, a grifter, a doctor, and many others. They sat in mismatched chairs side by side and tried to string together some semblance of a strategy. Around the table they went, each taking their turn to relay whatever news or ideas they had.

She watched Granger readjust her tired body and sit up a little straighter while Remus finished up. He spoke quickly and succinctly about their current state of affairs. A shipment of food had been intercepted. They were going to have to stretch whatever they had for a little while longer. She observed the worry lines in her mother's face and the decided slump of her father's shoulders. It would be tight, but at least it wasn't winter. The forest that protected them also kept them fed when supply runs were raided. They would be alright. Remus was good at his job; he would see to it that the next shipment made it in.

Granger was last to speak. Dumbledore nodded in her direction and she stood up. With all eyes on her, she began to detail her next meeting. Her report this week was brief. She would leave tomorrow night to meet Cho Chang and she was anxious for the meeting to adjourn.

"Chang contacted me earlier in the week. She says she has news to relay. She's been reliable before. Hopefully, she can give us some idea of what is coming."

Dumbledore placed his hand up to deter any questions.

"Let us adjourn for the night. I am for one am quite tired and I have long since lost feeling in my legs." He gave a slight smile. "Be vigilant my children and be safe," Dumbledore stated, "Remus, a moment."

As the crowd began to disperse, Remus and Dumbledore moved off into the corner to talk privately.

"Any news?"

"Nothing good, I am afraid. It's clear someone talked, but who, I couldn't say. So, for the moment I am treading carefully."

"Understandable, but…" he paused and took a deep breath, "I am afraid we may not have much time. You will keep me updated?"

"I will. Is that all?"

Distracted, as something had overtaken his thoughts, he responded, "Yes, yes. Good night."


	10. Chapter 10

Draco and Hermione

With the two night guards down the traitor and the spy were, for the moment, safe. However, this night was far from over. The second shift would be on soon and once the alarm was raised the compound would go into lockdown. They would never even make it outside. He shook his head in an attempt to bring the world back into alignment, it was time to move. He observed the girl struggling to catch her breath before him. The grime and filth he expected. The hollow cheeks and fevered eyes, the cuts, the bruises, the sick twist of her wrist, not at all unexpected. It's about breaking a body to break a mind. But, in that last regard they were unsuccessful or so for the moment it appeared and that was unexpected.

"Where do we go from here?" She asked her voice rough.

"Can you walk?"

He moved forward to help her up from the ground. She flinched at his sudden movement and for a moment he thought she would reject his offer of help. But, then her eyes flicked up to meet his and with a pained grunt he helped to pull her battered body upright. Her head rested on his chest for only a second before she shifted her weight to stand on her own. Her grip on the bloody blade never wavering.

"We've got some time before second shift will raise the alarm. I've brought food and water. Clothes and shoes too. We should fix you up the best we can before we start out."

She stared out at him. Her entire body was on edge, he could feel her panic and her fear. She still didn't trust him; the blade in her hand was poised for action. He put his hands up slowly,

"In the bag behind you, there are clothes. I'm going to check outside."

Without another word he turned and exited the room. Only when the door closed behind him did she place the knife onto the table behind her. Her body was beginning to ache again. No one had touched her for some time, but her ribs and wrist had yet to heal. Removing the clothing from the bag and pulling it on to her body, took much more effort and time than she had anticipated. Apparently, he felt the same way because he burst back into the room and she had only managed to halfway pull on a new pair of pants. The moment was so urgent and the situation so awkward. His face turned bright red like a child, which seemed so silly in light of everything. She started to laugh, rather unsuccessfully as her laughter turned to coughing and then to gasping for breath. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her upright once again. She took a deep breath and steadied herself,

"You'll have to help me."

He nodded. She appreciated his silence on the matter. Together, as quickly as they could manage she worked her way into the stolen Death Eater uniform. Then, with hands that were less steady then she would have liked he took a knife from his bag.

"I need you to cut my hair." He held the knife out to her, it was then she realized her knife still lay on the table. She accepted his blade and while he tied his shoulder length hair back with a piece of string, she tucked her knife into her belt.

His golden hair lay in a pile on the floor. He spread a palm full of grease through what remained of his hair, which darkened it a fair bit. He rubbed some dirt from the ground on face as well. Not the best disguise, but enough that a passerby may need to look twice to realize it was Draco Malfoy beneath the black hood.

He grabbed a container of water from his bag and took a swig. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and passed the container to her. She flinched, a combination of pain from the fracture of her wrist and nerves she could not seem to calm.

"Just take a little," he said "You probably won't be able to keep much down for a while."

She knew. She knew the rules of the body. This wasn't the first time she had starved, it wasn't the first time she had been bruised and beaten. She always thought it odd that it didn't take long to starve a body and a few well paced hits could put the lights out for good, but putting a body back together could take months. The psyche took even longer. Bones would mend, aches would fade, but the hyper-vigilance embedded in her body with each hit and kick would likely linger. She had seen the old timers in camp, the ones who never sat with their back to a door, who startled at every loud noise, who woke screaming in the night. James Potter was a most extreme example, but they were all scarred. She often wondered where they would all go if this war should ever end. Back into the world really didn't seem like a choice.

He giving her that look at her again, like she would break if the wind blew too hard, like she was a fragile creature he must tread carefully with. She may very well be damaged, but it would not do to have him know the extent of injury or the way her thoughts seemed to waver.

She took a drink from the container. It eased the burn in her throat. "Shall we move then? I would hate for all this to have been a waste," she said gesturing to the body splayed out on the floor.

"Let me see to your wrist first."

It took all her concentration not to flinch when he gently took her hand in his. Every inch of her body seemed to hum. She wanted to flee his grasp. It was all to close. She let her mind wander to thoughts of home, the smell of Severus' food, Luna's laugh, and Remus' stories. A small tug on her wrist brought her back to the smell of damp and blood and the sound of their breathing.

"Right now, we are in the very bowels of Azkaban. Only the very important and the very dangerous are kept down here. So congratulations I suppose, but this means there is quite a bit of a climb between us and fresh air. Then, since we can't very well just walk out the front gate, comes the jump. Then, we just need to talk our way outside the walls and well then it's up to you." He let go of her wrist.

He gathered up the water and looked about the room for anything else they might need. Satisfied they had the means to make it at least a day or two; he strapped his bag onto his back and placed his weapon into the holder on his thigh. Shoulders squared, he opened the door and walked into the quiet darkness. She followed silently behind him.

Harry

He scanned the crowd the way Dumbledore had trained him. He could read a crowd; anticipate the ebb and flow of the people. Not the way Dumbledore could, not yet at least, that man could sense a fight before the combatants even raised their fists. Harry took every opportunity to hone his skills. If he was going to be Dumbledore's successor someday he would need every advantage.

Since he had been young Dumbledore had taken a special interest in Harry. He always pushed Harry hardest, demanded perfection from the boy. There was always extra training, extra reading, late night discussions about strategy and leadership. But, Harry didn't resent him that way many thought he should. Molly Weasley always thought it was too much pressure for a young boy. She worried it was too much too soon. Harry didn't crumble though, he thrived. At just 19, he commanded a small band of elite scouts and every day brought more responsibility. Some of the older men and women doubted his competence. Some because they thought he was too young, but most because they feared he was too much like James. Sometimes he would catch Molly Weasley just watching him, like she was waiting for him to fall apart like James. He wasn't sick like James. He wasn't anything like him, he was sure of it. Dumbledore was his father, the father James could never be. So that was the kind of man he would be. Blood wasn't everything. This was the thought that gave him courage. He was stronger than his blood. He didn't need to worry every time his anger got the best of him or when his thoughts seemed to swarm. He was a soldier, he was restrained in a way James never was. Dumbledore had trained him. He was safe.

Except for where Ginny Weasley was concerned. She could be his undoing. She was beautiful. Beautiful in that way only people who don't know they're beautiful can be. She took away his control and his control was everything. He hadn't spoken to her since that night. She was dangerous and he didn't have time for pretty girls anyway. He continued to scan the mass of people gathered for dinner. One of these people was a traitor.

Dumbledore

He watched Harry watching. Something was wrong. He had a suspicion the Weasley girl was involved. If the glares she kept shooting in Potter's direction were any indication. He had been worried. Potter's emotions had been off; he was worried that this was it, Potter's descent into unpredictability. He looked just like James. He moved like James. He thought like James. James had been Dumbledore's ward. He had tried to raise the boy after his parents died, but he could never rein James in and then he got sick. He tried to do everything in his power to save the son from becoming his father. He knew that kind of sickness of the mind couldn't be stopped. If it was in the boy's blood, all the training in the world wouldn't stop its onset. But, he would do everything in his power to give Harry control of his own mind.

However, now he was fairly certain that he did not need to worry. If this was about a girl, Dumbledore would keep his distance. Harry thought he was so different from James. He did everything in his power to distance himself from his father. He wore his hair cropped close to his head and kept his face clean shaven. He never tried to win people with charm; rather he dazzled them with his accomplishments. He wanted people to trust him because he was competent, not quick with a joke and a smile. But, it would seem for all that effort to distance himself from his father; they drawn to the same kind of people. Before, he died Ron Weasley had the easy wit and bravado of James' best friend Sirius Black. Sirius Black, Dumbledore hadn't thought about Black in quite a while. He disappeared after Lily's funeral, no one had heard from him in years. Then there was brave and beautiful Lily, who had been taken too soon. He watched Ginny Weasley rising in the ranks the way Lily Evans had. He watched red hair fall into her eyes, the way Lily's had. He only hoped the story of Ginny and Harry would end more happily than that of James and Lily.

Remus and Severus

Someone was singing. An old song, a song he remembered his mother singing to him in his childhood. Out in the center of camp, everyone had gathered for the impromptu concert. Everyone except Severus Snape, he remained secluded in his tent pretending to read. Luna had left for the night and he was trying to convince himself he was enjoying the silence. He was trying to convince himself, he didn't miss her. He was trying to ignore the heavy ache in his throat, the pain of holding the tears in. Night was difficult. It always was. Everything came back, all the faces of all the people that would never come back. Remus entered the tent and Severus was momentarily distracted. His maudlin thoughts returned quickly though, here he was taking up with another person who could be gone tomorrow.

Remus could read the look on his face and without word he extended his hand to Severus. Severus grunted and returned his attention back to his book. Remus pulled the man up into his arms. Begrudgingly, Severus let him move him to the music. Remus smiled a tired smile and pulled the other man in for a kiss. It wasn't dancing so much as it was two people holding each other up, carrying one another's weight because to stand alone just wasn't feasible anymore. How long can two fucked up people hold each other together before everything tears at the seams? Probably not for very long, but they were going to try. They were going to hold on with everything they had left and when they couldn't hold on any longer they were going to let go together. This was an unspoken agreement they shared.

Bellatrix

When I drag the blade across my skin I remember the feel of his lips on my skin. And when my blood rolls down, I can hear the lazy drawl of his voice. And when the darkness finally overtakes me, I can see his face. Then I am back, out of the warm light and back to a dimmed reality.

"It's coming, can you feel it? Can't stop it now, all about to come tumbling down. Down, down, down…"She whispered in a singsong voice, "We are not who we pretend to be. I am not this body. I am not the flesh that binds me. You cannot begin to fathom what I am…what I am."


	11. Chapter 11

A husband and wife

"I was raised to live in shadow." She said as she ran her fingers down his face, "I lingered in doorways and drank in the whispers. Always listening, but never heard. I thrived on scraps and darkness. I spun a web of words that kept me high above and untouched by others," she spat".

She placed her lips near his ear, "I was raised to be a spider, dear husband, a lady of this court. I wonder why you should be surprised to find there is venom in my bite."

The man pinned beneath her struggled. With his hands and feet tied, his mouth bound, all this resistance was in vain.

"It won't be long now, hush. You'll be away before morning." She brushed her finger across his lips, "But, while we wait, there is a story I have longed to tell you."

"I am not the highborn lady you think I am. I was not born to it. I was raised to aspire to it, but in the end I had to steal." She climbed down from the bed and poured herself a glass of wine, "My mother was a worthless sort. She had been beautiful once, but a costumer had taken a knife to her face and all her smiles and charm could outshine the scars. She sold me to a woman; a woman who collected children, beautiful children. A woman who trained us to be lords and ladies and when the time came sold our bodies to the highest bidder." She pulled a chair up alongside the bed and crossed her legs upon it. "If the price was right, she would sell us completely. Such was my case when the late Lord Rabastan Lestrange and his wife came to call on her. I was just 16 when they packed my things and sent me bound in chains to the homestead. I would rather not discuss those two years. If you don't mind," she laughed, "Needless to say when the blessed Lord and Lady were found murdered in the bed I did not shed a tear."

She stood and climbed back upon the bed. She crossed her legs and sat where she could look upon his face.

"I did not do it, so you need not look at me that way. You shall be the first to die by my hand, dear husband, do not worry. It was robbers, just as the story goes. Wild men came in the night and murdered the good Lord, Lady, and their children in their sleep. Well, they did more than murder. What they did was in fact horrible, a fate that even those dreadful people did not deserve. I found them though. I heard the screams. I had not long learned to escape my holding cell. I was making preparations to leave, once I could steal enough coin, but fortunately fate dealt me a better hand of cards. You see, this was my chance. My chance to be the kind of woman my birth denied me."

"It's going to become hard to breathe. You are starting to feel it now," she made her way over to him. She grasped his face in her hands, "They have assured me it will not hurt. It should feel just like going to sleep. But, come now not just yet. There is still more for you to learn."

"They had a daughter. A kind and sweet girl, who was about my age, but she was sick. She was sick in the head and as her body grew, her mind did not. They kept hidden away. Like she was some kind of awful secret, like she was a disgusting kind of thing. She had these awful maids that tended to her; I cared for her when I could. It broke my heart to think I would have to leave her in that place. What those men did to her," her voice broke, "it is unspeakable, unforgivable. But, it was my chance. The only people that had ever seen her were dead. So, I pretended to be her. I took the name Rosalie Lestrange and everything that came with it. I put the real Rosalie in my cell beneath the stairs."

"Do you remember the nightmares I had when I first came to be your wife? Everyone thought they came from the horrors I had seen, thought they came from what had been inflicted upon me, but rather it was what came next that haunted my dreams. I took the knife to my face and body. I soaked my clothes in their blood and I climbed into a bed where a dead girl had lain. I closed my eyes and waited the night away in a dead girl's bed with the bodies of her maids cooling on the floor."

She climbed back upon him and stared into his eyes, "You know the story that follows. The servants found me in the morning; my auntie and uncle were sent to collect me. They sewed me up and married me off…to you. Had you been kind, I may have let you live. I might have let you run away with me. But, you were not kind. So breathe deep, my beloved, morning is almost here. And in answer to the question you did not ask, how do I intend to get away with this?" She laughed, "That my love is the best part of the plan. I've been poisoning you for months. Even before the resistance made me their man, I'd been adding something a little extra to your evening drink. So tomorrow, when they cut you open to see what went wrong, your little heart will be withered through. They may suspect foul play, but they will never suspect this kind of cunning from a girl who hardly speaks. I will play the bereaved widow for a few days time and then I will away to the rebel's hideaway. It is the perfect plan." She could feel his heart slowing beneath her, his breath growing labored. "One more thing before you sleep, my love, that child, the boy you dreamed of. He did quicken in my womb," she grabbed his face and pulled it in close, "but, I did away with him. I would not bring your spawn into this world. For fear that he would be in slightest anything like the lot of you people." She let his head fall hard back onto the pillow. "Go to sleep now, Regulus. Sleep and hope your brother returns to his post or all this will really have been for naught."

He moved his lips in an attempt to speak.

"Last words then, make them good."

"Who are you?" He managed to gasp.

"_Diclytra spectabilis_, the flower, they called me. Fleur Delacour."

She lay her head upon his chest and listened to his life end. She untied his arms and legs and waited for dawn to break. When the light began to filter through the curtains, she screamed. She screamed with all the energy left in her body. She screamed for her mother, for Rosalie, for her son, and for herself.

Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter

"I lie. I lie all the time, but you…you don't just lie, you believe and that is a hell of a lot more dangerous," she spat. "I put on a smile and ignore the way my mother hasn't been the same since Ron died. I laugh when I would rather cry. But, everyone knows that it is a game; that we are all pretending to be ok. You have actually convinced yourself that you are okay. That everything is alright." Harry shrugged her off and tried to push past her. She continued to speak, "You bastard," her voice broke and he stopped, "we don't belong to people forever, we don't have a hold on each other for eternity. Time isn't going to wait…There isn't time for everything."

"I do not have the luxury of _not being okay_. If I am to lead these men I must remain clear of mind and unattached. This is not the time for foolish, childish love. It's selfish. It's stupid and dangerous." He turned hard on his heel. "You are dangerous…."

He lost his words as he felt her hot breath on his face. She was too close. She made his tongue a most unwilling participant in conversation. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her of the way he used to dream of their marriage. But, Granger went missing and they were betrayed. Food stocks were dwindling. Winter was coming fast and something even more insidious was following on its heels. He scrubbed his face with his hand.

She stepped forward and took his hands, "Why can't we be selfish? Tell me why? We're all going to die for a world we won't even get to live in. This is all we're ever going to know. This is all the time we will ever have. You love me, can't we just have this? Can't we just have this one thing?"

He kissed her, hard, a frenzied collision of teeth and tongue. He fled her grip and departed with his head high and his shoulders square. He left her with no words, just an ache in her body and no hope for their future.

Luna Lovegood and Severus Snape

Luna was standing next to the river like she expected him. "I killed him, I killed them both" she announced in a rough whisper.

He was taken aback, "Killed who? Who have you killed?"

"My parents," she said as she stared at him her eyes fixed. "He hurt me, every day, for as long as I can remember. She died giving birth to me and he never forgave me."

She paused, "I'm cursed you see, cursed to see things before they happen. My mother was the same way. She had visions, but I have dreams…In my dreams last night, he tried to kill me and then this morning, he tried to cut me with his knife… I just moved. I stepped out of his reach…" She wavered. She appeared to be very far away. "He slipped. He just missed a step and then his head split open on the fire place."

"I was going to let him do it." She paused and then spoke as though her words were shameful, "But, I couldn't." She directed her gaze at her feet. "I tried to clean up the blood. It stained my hands." She held out her hands so that he could see. "I knew that you would be here, but I do not know what is to happen next."

He would tell them he found her in the woods. She was a child; they would have to accept her. He was resolved then, "You are a very capable healer, are you not?"

"I am sir."

"Come with me…Keep up."


End file.
